


Pretty Boy

by sleepingseeker



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (2014)
Genre: Complete, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Romance, shell play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:54:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepingseeker/pseuds/sleepingseeker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April is having a bad day made worse for lack of hot water. Expecting Donnie to come to her aid, she gets a visit from a certain hot-tempered mutant, instead. Raph wants to prove he is just as capable as Donatello. April thinks he's pretty.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty Boy

“Just come in, I’ve got . . . I’m in the middle of . . . Errrgh!” April’s voice rang out muffled through the closed window, laced with irritation.

Raph lingered for a minute longer on the fire escape.  Fidgeting.  His breath ghosted in front of his face as a few snowflakes sprinkled over his nose.  A bloom of his breath spread over the glass of her window.  Maybe now wasn’t a good time.  He glanced at the tool box held in one grip and felt ridiculously out of place, like some jerk-off handyman monster that stepped out of a B-horror flick.  His face colored.  Yeah, what the hell was he thinking?  He turned to leave when the blinds slapped to one side and April unlatched the locks and dragged the sash open.  The window springs shrieked and he gulped, backing up a step.

He stood staring, mouth hanging open like a dope as she indicated for him to come in; a short towel clutched in front of her chest, a pair of pajama pants barely clinging to the curve of her hips, dripping dangerously low beneath her navel, the bottoms gathering in folds on top of her bare feet.  She raised her brows irritably and snapped her wrist through the air in a ‘hurry up’ motion.  He clambered through as quickly and as smoothly as his bulky form could allow, noting the goose-bumps breaking out over her bare shoulders, counting the freckles sprinkled across her collar bone.  All the while wanting to keep going through the window, across the bedroom, down the hall and back out into the alley and down into the sewers as fast as he could. 

His only thought:  _Oh shit._

“Where’s Donnie?” she asked briskly and any warmth he’d been feeling at the exposed sight of her pale flesh cooled considerably.

Defensively, he shrugged.  “Busy,” he spat.

“What!?”

April slammed the window shut and Raph could not help but stare wide-eyed at the expanse of her bare back.  And lower, taking in the dimples, and the curve of the top of her toned bottom.  Something pulled tautly between his legs and he jumped, fumbling the toolbox from one hand to the other, making a racket and thankful for the distraction.  As she turned to face him, he stumbled away from her, covering his eyes with one hand in shame, peeking still through his fingers, unable to stop himself, before reluctantly turning his shell to her and crossing his arms, coughing.

“He said he’d come and fix the hot water for me,” she whined and ran a hand through her hair, pulling loose strands from her messy pony-tail.  “I had a helluva day, Raph,” she said in a charged militant voice.  “A helluva day and all I wanted was a hot shower and to go to bed.  I get into the shower and it’s ice water.  Ice water, do you understand?”

“He,” Raph shook his head, glanced sideways at her and then jumped again, forcing his gaze away.  Was that towel getting smaller?  It sure the hell seemed so.  He choked and cleared his throat.  He tried again, staring at the top of the toolbox.  “He was comin’ but Master Splinter had an attack.”

“What?!” she repeated, this time with some amount of fright and gripped him by the elbow, trying to turn him to face her, but he planted his feet firmly in the ground.  He’d seen enough and didn’t need to be tormented by sights too lovely for something like him.  When he remained in place, immovable and scowling, she circled around to stand in front of him.  Her hand lingering.

His eyes popped and he pinched them tightly closed, tipping his chin back and speaking to the ceiling.  “Nothin’ serious.  Blood sugar.  Or somethin’.  Diabetic,” Raph explained and yanked his bicep away from her touch where it seared and continued to linger even after her hand had moved away.  He felt rather than saw her shoulders slump.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“’S nothin’,” Raph said and risked a glance down at her.  Yep, that towel was not doing a very good job.  From this vantage point, he could make out the curvy tops of her breasts and the effect on his body was fierce.  He twisted and looked for an escape path and started to inch his way towards the doorway, skirting bit by bit around her, doing his best to keep some space between them.  He cleared his throat with a loud harrumph, “Donnie’ll give ‘em his shot.  He’ll be fine.”

She nodded and readjusted the towel.  She glanced down in a quick motion as if just remembering that she wasn’t fully and properly dressed.  Her fingers splayed across the front of it, pressing it against her.  A nervous smile broke over her face and an equally nervous laugh bubbled out of her.

“Sorry,” she motioned to the towel and took a step back.  “I got kind of . . . pissed,” she offered, screwing up her face.

Raph huffed and cracked a half-smile, feeling better for the space between them.  He waved a hand at her, dismissively.  “’S okay.”  Keeping his eyes to one side, looking at anything but her, grateful that she was now giving him some much needed room to maneuver, he stepped into the hallway towards the bathroom.  He leaned into the room for a moment and glanced around before reemerging.  He nodded his head towards a small closet door. “Hot water heater in there?” he asked.

And she nodded sheepishly.

“I got this.”  He opened the door and set the toolbox down. 

April cocked her brow.

He caught the expression.  “What?” He motioned with his hand towards the ancient equipment.  “This is the same boiler model we had for years.”  He turned back to examine it.  “Piece of shit,” he mumbled and checked to see if she was still standing there, relieved to find her gone.  He rubbed his hand over his face and blew out a breath.  Feeling some of his false confidence waver. 

She’d wanted his brother.  The smart one.  Of course she did.  His head bounced in understanding as he huffed.  Yeah, he got it.  He wasn’t supposed to know jack-shit about fixing stuff.  As Leo put it so clearly, they didn’t break stuff.  Only he did.  It was part and parcel of who he was.  Well, whether his brothers and April wanted to believe it or not, he could put things together just as well as Donnie.  He smiled, thinking of the chopper in the garage, the gorgeous engine he’d been building from scrap parts.  The way it would purr when he finished with her.  Yeah, some things maybe he was better at building, even.

April dashed into her bedroom, grabbing a crop top that she usually slept in.  Feeling like a complete idiot for not changing before letting him in, thinking at the time that it would be Donnie at the window and he’d just hurry past her without a second look as he’d always do when he’d come to fix something that had busted in her crappy apartment. 

But it hadn’t been Donnie.  The shy, gentle brother.  It was Raph.  And she’d been still too stunned by her ice shower to realize it until her brain caught up with reality.  She pressed her hands into her stomach.  Oh god.  It had to be him.  He had to see her looking like shit.  Raphael.  Her pulse fluttered against her fingertips poised at her throat, one arm still hugging herself.  She snapped out of it and adjusted her hair, trying to make it neater or obey her commands to be tied back.  It was a losing battle.  She gave up.

When she came back, he was part-way inside the closet space, hmm’ing to himself.  She realized it was a song he was humming.  Not one she recognized, but she made out that he was tapping his fingers, softly beating out a rhythm.  A grin split her face.  She crept up behind him, and he was lost in what he was doing.  She could hear the wrench at work against the bolts, the sound of metal gently grinding.  As he was occupied, April considered him.  It was a rare thing to catch him off-guard.  Even rarer to get this close without him huffing and running away, to the dojo, or the garage.  No.  He was captivated by the task at hand.  Her captive.  A delicious feeling swept through her. 

She pressed her hand against her mouth and suppressed a giggle as she looked at his large feet, tucked under the folds of the back of his loin cloth, buckled by belts over his shell.  Her eyes roved over his carapace; noting the scars and ridges; the missing chips and the duct tape in places.  She wondered if that hurt.  She wondered if he could feel anything through that bulky material.  Slowly, her fingertip reached out and she traced one spiraling ridge, following the contours in a semi-circular way.

Raphael stopped humming.  He froze.  It took a second, but she realized that he could feel that and instantly snapped her hand back.  He peered at her with one eye over his shoulder.

She said quickly and quietly, “Uh, sorry.”

He slowly eased back and sat on his haunches, blinking and staring at her with a strange, intense look on his face.  He seemed almost . . . hurt.  Suddenly, April wanted to drop into and through the floor.  She tucked her hands under her armpits and bit her lip.   _Oops_.

“I, uh, I shouldn’t have . . . uh,” she fumbled and he continued to stare, but then dropped his gaze and looked to one side.

“’S okay,” he said in a quiet voice, then even quieter, “I get it.”  It was simple.  She wanted to touch the freak’s deformity.  Basic curiosity.  His stomach clenched and rolled.

She cocked her head to one side, feeling like something was going on here deeper than she’d first realized.  Feeling as though she’d done more than just trespassed on his personal space.  Was this a turtle thing?  Was touching his shell like that insulting?  She wanted to ask him.  Didn’t know how to frame the question without it sounding demeaning or insulting and instead, remained quiet, uncomfortable; awkward.

“Do you, ah, how about something to drink?” she offered brightly and hurried around him. 

He looked up and followed her with his eyes.  He considered it and climbed to stand.  What he wanted was to go home, bury himself in the parts of his bike and forget that he’d ever come here.  It’d all been a stupid mistake.  He stepped through the hallway, pushing away the tumultuous thoughts that confused him, leaving him feeling vulnerable and bitter.  Head low, he leaned on the doorframe to her kitchen.

“Thermostat needed cleanin’.  It’s fixed.  Should be.”

“Oh?” She emerged from the refridgerator, two beers clutched between fingers. 

He eyed them as if he’d never seen alcohol before.  As if worried they’d jump out of her hands and attack him.  He glanced back at the hallway then to her.  “I should go.”

She approached him, looking up and searching his face.  “Do you have to?”

It almost sounded like she was disappointed.  As if she wanted him to stay.  God, he was pathetic.  A smile cracked over his face despite feeling anything but happy.  “Yeah.”  His eyes dropped away.  He wanted to add,  _shoulda never come in the first place,_  but bit his tongue.  He’d made enough of a fool of himself as it was for one day.

“Hang on,” April said, just as he turned, snagging his elbow.  And this time stopping him, making him turn.  His expression was guarded but she was under no illusion that she’d somehow overpowered him. Unlike earlier, he allowed her to move him.  There’d be no way she could if he hadn’t wanted her to.  And that meant he wanted to know what else she had to say. 

She squinted and pressed her mouth into a line then decided to lay it all out.  The O’Neil’s were a family steeped in the traditions of their Celtic roots.  They didn’t mess around.  They didn’t beat around the bush.  Or play head games.  They hashed out their problems with drinking or heartfelt talks, or when it came to it: fists; but they never let anything go without a fight.  If she’d done something wrong she wanted to know.

“Did I offend you?  Somehow?”

Raphael’s face broke into genuine surprise.  A smile, nervous and disbelieving erupted across his mouth, “What?” he breathed out.

“Did I offend you?” she repeated, leaning towards him and narrowing her eyes.  “By touching your shell?”

He straightened up.  What was she playing at?  “N-Nah, no. ‘Course not.”

Still with her eyes narrowed, she considered him.

He fidgeted and shuffled his feet but remained where he was; getting more nervous and baffled by the second.  Offend him? What the hell was she talking about?  He knew what he looked like.  He knew that humans would be . . . curious.  Why would April be any different?  Hell, they’ve only known her for a couple of months.  He shifted from one foot to the other.  He should have hidden the hurt better earlier and he cursed himself for it.  Leo was always giving him a hard time for being too easy to read.  Poker with Donnie and Leo was hell.  At least Mikey had a worse tell than he did; breaking out into a huge grin every time he got a half-way decent hand.

“You seem . . . off,” she said slowly.  “After I touched your shell.”  She nodded as though convincing herself.  “Is that an off-limits thing to do?  Just tell me straight.”

“Wh-What?  N-No. It ain’t. I mean, there’s not any . . . off limits? What do ya mean?”  He huffed a nervous laugh and ran his hand over the top of his head.  Wanting nothing more than to end this strange conversation.  It wasn’t as though he didn’t want her to touch him.  Under the right circumstances.  And not as if she were touchin’ something disgusting.  Only . . . her face didn’t look disgusted when he’d looked at her earlier, now that he really thought about it.  His heart stumbled.  What the hell did that mean?  What the hell was going on here?  He was regretting coming out here more and more by the second.

Seeming to be mollified by his response, stumbling and stuttering though it came out, she nodded again.  “So, if I want to touch it again, I can.”

He started.  “What? T-Touch what?”  He looked around, now feeling more cornered than ever before.  Panicked.   _Oh shit.  She wants to touch your shell, you dumbass.  She likes it.  But why the hell would she like it?_

“Your shell.”

“My shell.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” he asked exasperated.  “I mean, I’m . . . I’m a freak, I get it. I mean, I get that you’d be curious and shit, but . . .”

She was shaking her head.  He found himself mimicking her.

“Could I touch it now?”

He froze.  A nervous chuckle bubbled out of him.  “Now?  I guess . . . uh, but why?  What do you . . .?”

Before he could go on, she skirted around him and shoved the beer into his hand, which he immediately guzzled for all he was worth.  Adam’s Apple bobbing.  He jumped, unable to help himself as her palm laid against him, sending off the tingling sensation that he’d felt earlier when she’d touched him in the hallway.  Tightening things that he’d learn to neglect and ignore over the years, igniting a fire within him that boiled his blood.  The image of her bare flesh rose up in his mind.  The goose-bumps and the freckles, the dimples in her lower back.

“So, you can feel that, huh?” Her voice sounded husky but that had to be his imagination.  He nodded, unable to speak, and drank some more.  Better.  He rolled his eyes as she continued to rub and trace and caress.  His body warmed and his groin throbbed.  His knees quivered.  He felt a rumble beginning in the back of his throat.  A building need to release the growling purr that signaled his arousal.  The embarrassing sound they so desperately tried to hide when in the shower and things could no longer be neglected or ignored.  He stiffened.   _That’s it._   He jumped to one side.

“Enough, okay, enough,” he said gruffly but then laughed at her shocked expression.  He finished the beer and set it on the table, clearing his throat and ready to leave, folding his arms across the wide expanse of his chest.  Things had spiraled way out of his comfort zone.  And April had no clue.

Nonplussed by his discomfort and jumpiness, she said, “So you can really feel through your shell?”

“Yeah,” he croaked.

They stared at each other.  Then both spoke at once, “I gotta go.” “I like it.”  He froze.  She smiled.  He blinked.  They both spoke at the same time again, “Did you just say . . .” “It’s pretty.”

At that, Raph ducked his head and laughed, unable to stop the spreading grin.  He covered his face with one hand.  This was getting better and better.   _Oh my fucking god._

“What?  It is!” she insisted and took her first sip with a half-smile on her lips.

His shoulders bounced.  “That’s, uh, that’s great, I guess,” he said with a shake of his head and squinting his eyes.  He prayed to god that she never mentioned in front of Leo that she thought his shell was pretty.  He’d never live it down.  “Ya know . . . I had a feelin’ you were kinda nuts when you showed up on the roof after Donnie’s message that first night, but now I know.”

She raised her brows.  “Now you know.”  A quirk of a smile danced across her lips.

“Yeah.  ‘S right.  Now I know you’re completely bonkers.”

They laughed in unison, warm and open, like friends, until it dissolved into chuckling and giggles.

“I should go.”

“Okay.”

He moved down the hallway and gathered his tools.  April made a metal note to pick up a new toolbox for him the next time she passed a hardware store.  His was dented and rusted.  Maybe she’d bedazzle his name in little sparkly rhinestones for good measure.  Now, that sounded like a plan.  She decided she’d surprise him the next time she went down to visit them and smiled secretly, behind her knuckles, pleased with her covert idea and teasing.

“Hot water should be fine, now.”

“Thanks, Raph.”

“Don’ mention it,” he headed back towards her bedroom, casting a furtive glance at her bed, noting the dark satiny coverlet, the thick pillows; picturing her sleeping, snuggled in the soft depths and swallowed.

Her hand on his shell had him jumping.  His heart was in his throat as he glanced back before slipping through the window into the frigid night air.  Her eyes gleamed and the smile she gave him had him bumbling over the fire escape; heart racing, wondering still. Suddenly thinking he didn’t understand anything.  Not one thing.  Nothing at all.

Why’d she want to touch my shell in the first place?  A notion slipped between the cracks of his denial and disbelief.  And though he wanted to push it away, he lingered on the impossible idea that maybe she meant it, when she told him that she liked it.   _She said it’s pretty_ , he thought and smiled wryly as he ducked into the storm drain, pulling the large cover back in place.

“Yeah,” he fished the toothpick out from a pocket in his belt and stuck it in his mouth, working it down and around with his tongue and lips.  “I’m a pretty boy,” he said with a smirk, voice echoing in the tunnel as he sauntered home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Written for omobolasire1 on Tumblr who was having a bad day. With much inspiration from Princessebee (Dorkinhighheels on Tumblr) with all her awesome 2k14 Raphril fics. If you haven't checked them out, you are missing out!


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